The Five Times Harvey and Mike Slept Together
by LeahxLeah
Summary: …and the one time they acknowledged it. Slash.
1. First Time

The Five Times Harvey and Mike Slept Together

…and the one time they acknowledged it.

LeahxLeah

**First Time—Las Vegas**

The pain cracks through Mike's skull haunts him before he even opens his eyelids. His brain flutters into a state of awakening slowly, causing growing waves of agony to build and crash over his head in slow succession. The cadence quickens until he knows he's on the brink of vomiting, but he swallows it down in an attempt to save his own frayed dignity, forcing the acid back down his throat.

When he tries to open his eyes, letting thin cracks of sunlight filter through his eyelashes, his arm immediately moves to cover up his wounded visage and he lets out a low moan.

_This is bad, _he realises. _This is very, very bad._

The lingering aroma of tequila and lime that would usually bring a grin to his face at the thought of all the stupid things he'd done under its influence made him gag. A tortured, "Fuck," passed through his lips as the hammer that had been pounding on his skull returned with its jackhammer friend to tag team on his hung-over head.

He took several steadying breaths, placing his mind somewhere else to help ignore the ache, and opened his eyes.

Mike almost passed out, taking in the overwhelming brightness of the room and the light streaming in from the partially opened curtains. He blinked several times at what was possibly the most blinding sight his eyes had ever taken in, and then wracked his brain to try desperately to remember last night.

He came up blank, and felt like he ought to be slipping under the six hundred thread count sheets in shame.

_Think, Mike, think! _ His aggrieved brain begged him. _Where are we?_

Biting his lip to supress another pitiful noise, Mike slid up in bed and glanced directly forward, unwilling to twist his neck. His gaze met a cream coloured wall with an expensive looking wooden desk pressed against it, with signature hotel stationary displayed on it in only the most elegant way possible. His suit jacket had been tossed more recklessly than usual onto the desk chair and his pants were discarded haphazardly at the end of the bed.

_Hotel._

A nice hotel, at that—vague recollections began flooding Mike's mind now as he inhaled cologne that calmed him and eased the mounting nausea in his stomach. Right, right—he and Harvey had a client who'd called the firm in hopes of purchasing a large casino in Las Vegas, and Jessica had thought the two of them should fly out and meet the client there. The client—Jack; Jack Grenache?—had been concerned at a possible major loophole in the deal and Harvey had insisted that Mike was the best man for the job and that he ought to accompany him to keep him in line.

_Yeah, right,_ chided Mike's conscience. He was lost on how Jessica had bought something like that, but he had a feeling that if such things like past lives existed Harvey had been a con-man in his.

Mike had spotted the loophole quickly, and an hour after the two had checked into the hotel Harvey insisted they celebrate the way he knew best—gambling.

Harvey, by no surprise, was a fantastic gambler, but Mike found his vivid Technicolor memory started to bleed and run into his other ones after a few hands of poker.

_Harvey grinning, laughing—it was the best sound Mike had heard all night, and the hand his boss had placed on his shoulder the best feeling. The air here was filled with fascinating scents and sounds, captivating and neon reflecting off of Harvey's skin._

_Alcohol._

_The laughter was closer, now—pressed flush against the skin on his neck and followed suit by warm exhales that tickled his nerves. _

_Alcohol._

_Suddenly, he was cold, and he made the closest warm body his cocoon, losing himself in someone else's heartbeat and cologne._

_Cologne—_had he slept with a guy?

He became instantly terrified at the prospect of who might be lying in bed next to him—a male stripper? A drunk college kid? Or, the worst out of all the options—the client?

Shit, Harvey would kill him—if Harvey was alive, wherever he was. Maybe Mike was dead, too, and this nauseating feeling was just another product of being in hell.

_Harvey, _his brain reminded him. _You have to find Harvey._

Something shifted on the other side of the bed.

_Shit, shit, shit! _Mike's brain exclaimed, and he grabbed his phone from the bedside table next to him. The agony was instantly replaced by the adrenaline that came with panic, and Mike leaped out of the bed and bolted to the door, the room and discarded tumblers blurring past him.

He turned the handle as quickly as he could, his hand shaking around the cool metal and his heart throbbing in his chest. Mike felt like he had as a child after waking up from a particularly vivid nightmare—rattled and shaky, as though the reality he had known and accepted was falling apart and he didn't know where to stand.

He slipped out quietly into the hallway, biting his lip to keep from screaming at the brightness, leaning against the wall for support. Only then did he look down and realise that he was wearing boxers.

And only boxers.

Mike glanced around, relieved to see that he was alone in the long corridor and hadn't terribly scarred any young children or innocent bystanders, but evidently not many people felt the need to get up until five in the evening in Vegas, and for that, he was grateful. He was sure, however, that whoever was forced to watch the security tapes was currently crying with laughter as they watched him stand like a deer in the headlights in the middle of the hall, almost naked.

_Harvey,_ his brain reminded him.

Right, Harvey. How would he reach Harvey? Oh, yeah. Phone.

_Stupid,_ his brain stated.

He was relieved to see that despite the perdition his phone had been through, in his pocket the whole insane night, it had stayed intact and functioning, despite a few new scratches.

Mike hit number two on his speed dial.

It made the quiet noises of attempting to connect with someone against his ear, and suddenly Mike's thoughtless comment about Harvey possibly being dead came back to haunt him.

_Oh my God—what if he actually did die?_

_What if I killed him?_

_How would I break it to Donna? To Jessica? I'd go to jail! _

_I wouldn't do well in jail._

_What if Harvey has a family he never told anyone about? He doesn't wear a wedding ring—but maybe he has kids! How would I tell them? "Gee, kids, I'm sorry I killed your father, but it really was his fault—I mean, he's the one that wanted to come to Vegas because he's a degenerate gambler."_

He'd be more tactful when he was completely sober.

"…'ello?" a voice at the other end of line asked.

"Harvey?" Mike whispered obnoxiously loudly into the phone. "Are you alive?"

There was a pause, and Mike heard sheets rustling. "My pulse says yes," the older man groaned, "but my head says no."

"Oh." Mike stated. "That's good. I was worried I'd have to talk to your children."

Mike heard Harvey scoff in a way that might have been a laugh if Harvey had been fully functioning. "I don't have kids, Mike, but right now I'm feeling incredibly responsible for you, which is bothersome."

"Where are you?" Mike asked. "I'm worried I slept with someone."

"Yeah," Harvey said gruffly, "it would suck if you lost your virginity and couldn't remember it."

Mike rolled his eyes, then groaned at the pain that caused. "Seriously," he asked, choking on his words, "where are you?"

"In a bed."

"That's pretty vague—could you be more specific?"

He heard Harvey shuffle slightly, and then paused for almost a minute. Finally, he came back with, "It's a white bed."

"Really?" Mike asked sarcastically, suddenly frustrated with his inebriated boss. "I thought it would've been black."

"Don't be racist."

"Holy crap—I'm not being racist, okay?" Mike exclaimed. "I am not racist. I love all people—I mean, beds, ah—"

"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much."

"Oh, hilarious. Seriously, though, where are you? I'm freaking out," Mike stated earnestly, looking up and down the hall.

"Wait—where are you?" asked Harvey.

"Me?" Mike asked. "I'm outside my room, at the hotel. Why?"

"Because," Harvey said, and Mike could hear him get to his feet, groaning slightly as he did, "I think I can hear you."

"Are you in your room?" Mike asked, remembering Harvey's had been aligned across the hall from his, as Harvey had jokingly brought up that if the two of them were to share a room, he wouldn't bother putting a sock on the door handle, as Mike could just assume he was sleeping with somebody. It had occurred to Mike then why Harvey didn't stay in many long term relationships—not many people would want to put up with that level of arrogance if they didn't know Harvey actually did _care._

"No," Harvey said. "Everything's…flipped. It's on the wrong side. Stay where you are—I'll see if I can spot you."

Mike felt a wave of relief sweep over him temporarily, but the feeling of alarm returned instantly when he heard the door handle from his room click, and a figure stepped out.

He stared blankly at the dishevelled version of Harvey, who's hair stuck up on odd angles from his head that made Mike think of the puppy analogy that had been used on him so many times. He was wearing more clothes than Mike—a white t-shirt _and _boxers, which Mike was envious of, and a light shadow of stubble graced his face. Harvey looked less menacing and younger in the morning, or maybe some of Mike's adolescence had rubbed off on him the night before; but either way, it was a different Harvey to the one Mike was used to seeing. One with fewer walls up, as Mike could see Harvey's eyes widen comically and flick towards his own as though trying to read something in them.

"I have to go," Mike said into the phone. "I think I just slept with my boss."

OoOoO

An hour later, Harvey was dressed impeccably and had shaved, but the sweet naïve expression that had lingered in Mike's mind was replaced by a scowl. The two of them sat under an umbrella, avoiding the too harsh sunlight that was filtering down and being absorbed by the hot desert floor that leaked into the surrounding buildings. Both of them had a coffee in hand, and were avoiding each other's gazes.

No one said anything for a while, until Mike eventually piped up with, "Harvey—Vegas rule."

Harvey sighed and then glared across the table at his associate, placing his coffee on a coaster. _Go figure, _Mike thought, _we're in the middle of a possible life-changing crisis and he still feels the need to put his drink on a coaster. Even if it's a plastic table that belongs to a hotel. _

"This could've happened in Kansas and I'd still expect it to stay in Kansas. Clear?"

"Yeah."

"Look—don't get freaked out. We don't have any proof that anything actually—"

"—you mean, _you _don't have proof. Trust me when I say I'm very aware of the fact that I had s—had ss—"

Harvey frowned, shushing Mike with his hand. "Let's not use that word, alright?"

"What's a better word?"

"Intercourse."

"God, that makes it sound even worse, like we did it in my old biology classroom—"

"—okay, okay…how about slept together? That doesn't imply much, except sleep…"

"You're really living in the wrong century, y'know that? What about _'fucked'_?"

"No."

"'_Got it on'_?"

"God, no."

"'_Did it_'?"

"What is this, primary school? No, this just didn't happen, alright? I don't have feelings for you, and you don't have feelings for me. We aren't like that. It was just alcohol and poker and the heat of the moment, so this doesn't come back to New York with us, understand?"

"Look, I get it, but don't look at me so accusingly. This wasn't my fault! I'm completely heterosexual," Mike stated.

Harvey gave him a look.

"What? I am."

"Jesus," Harvey said, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand. "I feel like I'm living a scene from _The Hangover, _except the script is worse and there aren't any strippers."

"I'm pretty sure sleeping with your boss wasn't included in there, either."

Harvey smirked half-heartedly. "Check the deleted scenes."

"Whatever—anyways, this didn't happen."

"No."

"For sure."

"Wait, what? No, it didn't happen for sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay—it didn't happen. Period."

"Full stop if you're British."

Harvey put his face dejectedly in his hands. "This is officially my worst trip to Vegas."

"Didn't you win money?"

"I doubled what I came with—I guess in that sense, you're lucky, but in every other way you make me want to drop you off at the next bus stop."

"See?" Mike pointed at him. "This is why you don't have friends."

"I have friends," Harvey stated.

"If people hang out with you after work hours, it's either because, a), they don't know you very well and think you might pay for things, or b), because all your friends are comedians and they use the things you say as the material for their acts."

"Really?"

"Really," Mike stated.

"Then why are you here?" Harvey asked.

"I fall under column a, since I'm your one night stand," Mike said cockily.

They sat in silence for the entire plane ride back.

OoOoO

…**I'm baaack…:D**

**Alas, a comedy fanfiction to prove to the lovely Suits community that I'm better at angst than anything else, but this 5+1 is for the sake of keeping me from dying from the…plot-y-ness… that is ongoing in my other, soon to be posted, story.**

**Below this is a blue button. Cliiiiccck the button and magical things will happen. Just cliiicck it. You'll feel better if you do. **


	2. Second Time

**Second Time—On A Road Trip**

The first week after the two of them got home from Vegas, Mike could've sworn whoever owned the radio station's he listened to had spotted the two of them there, as suddenly wherever he went, he kept hearing Katy Perry.

And not several Katy Perry songs, no—not the type of thing he could blow off as an odd coincidence—because they kept playing the same song, over and over again.

Waking Up In Vegas.

It played when he got out of the shower.

It played in restaurants.

It played in bars.

It played on his iPod—which Mike found odd, since he couldn't recall buying it, and yet _it was there._

Finally, when he had eliminated all musical sources, Rachel would hum it as she walked by his desk.

Harvey, naturally, seemed to have blown the whole thing off as a fluke—_"Alcohol, poker, heat of the moment,"_—but Mike was the one cursed with an eidetic memory, and he found as more time passed he could remember more of the night. It wasn't anything blatant, or major; just Harvey's hand brushing casually over his, Harvey's dark whispers in his ears. These things wouldn't bother him particularly if they didn't hit him like eighteen wheelers during awkward times in the middle of the day.

He'd be sitting at his desk, listening to the white noise from his headphones—_take that, Katy Perry_—and working through another massive stack of paperwork when the smell of mint would waft under his nose, and he'd evoke a memory from that night.

_Harvey's mouth hit his like a train, as though he'd spent his entire life floating in space and Mike was the ground, and this thing between them was the gravity that he'd been praying would kick in eventually. Mike recognised the words, "I'm not…you…we…" drifting from one of their mouths between the sighs, and gauged the response from the other person who asked, "Does it really matter?"_

No. It didn't matter, because their working relationship was unaffected, and they didn't see one another past that.

Surprisingly enough, Mike wasn't uncomfortable around Harvey—the older man had reacted appropriately, and hadn't looked at Mike as though he was disgusting, so life carried on. Mike had made a resolution never to get drunk with Harvey again, but other than that the two of them still fit together well enough that they handled cases better than anyone else at the firm.

Jessica was impressed by their performance in Vegas—so much so that she called Mike into her office to tell him directly to his face.

He was nervous as he walked in there; for one thing, it was significantly larger than Harvey's, and secondly, she was grinning in a way that was slightly maniacal.

Mike's brain, being the separate entity it is, immediately jumped to the worst conclusions. Either she knew about him not going to Harvard, or she knew he'd slept with his boss—neither were fantastic options, but he was thinking ahead. If Jessica suggested to him that she thought his credentials may not be exactly what Harvey said they were, he would drop her an elusive line that would make her think he and Harvey were in a relationship. After all, the latter was definitely better than the former.

"Mike," she said, smile still present, "take a seat."

Mike resisted the urge to gulp, and quickly sat across from her on the other side of her desk, looking at her nervously.

"I just got a call from Jack Grenache—the client from Las Vegas. He said you found the loophole in record time. In fact, he had nothing but good things to say about you and Harvey. Apparently, the two of you were the best behaved lawyers he's ever dealt with."

"That—err—seems like a bit of a stretch."

"I thought so too, given that you're young and Harvey…well, he's Harvey. But, from what I'm told, and from what our expense report shows, there were no strip clubs, minimal gambling, and no drinks taken from the hotel bar."

"Isn't that what's expected, Ms. Pearson?" he asked innocently.

"From Louis? Sure. Harvey? Definitely not. He lives for casinos, bars and strip clubs, and yet none of that occurred. If he had been with anyone else, all of the above would've been handled in an hour after he landed. But no—with you, he was well behaved. I don't know what you did, but you are most definitely deserving of a bonus."

"Oh, um, wow—thank you."

_Jesus, _thought Mike. _I'm worse than a prostitute!_

Sadly, outside of the one bonus, he didn't get any special treatment—in fact, Harvey seemed to give him double his usual work flow, as though, like Mike suspected, his boss blamed him for the whole incident. With the increase in paperwork, Mike figured that Harvey must have been taking extra cases and burying himself in work to distract himself from the same tormented thoughts Mike was having. To test his theory, he wound up in Harvey's office alone, flipping through folders to avoid The Song, and mysteriously drifted towards his boss's desk.

His hand, under some strange condition, landed onto the papers that were laying there.

On the top level were the papers and research Mike had handed him for the most recent case, and a level below that seemed to be some abstract scraps of paper that Harvey had disguised to look like work by writing random words in no apparent order and interjecting doodles.

A level below that, Harvey had drawn a smiley face across a blank piece of paper.

"Why are you going through my desk?" Harvey asked, speaking close to his ear, making Mike jump.

"Why are you doodling across subpoenas?"

"Well, I don't actually have to do any work this week, so—"

"—what do you mean?" Mike interjected. "Wait—have I been doing everything you're supposed to be doing?"

"Absolutely," Harvey said, grinning at his associate.

"Why?" Mike asked, flabbergasted.

"I figure if you get a bonus, you should have at least earned it, rookie. After all, aren't you all about working hard for your money?" Harvey asked, a smirk on his lips and something dark and accusing in his eyes.

"I thought I did!" Mike exclaimed, gesturing wildly. "That was _the_ most traumatising moment of my adult life, and I have you to blame! I deserve compensation!"

"_You _deserve compensation? I mean—_you_? I'm a completely heterosexual guy—"

"—except, you know, you slept with me. What does that make you, Harvey? Hmm? Mike-sexual?"

"Drunk. That makes me drunk, because I'm straight. You, on the other hand—"

"—round three of, 'let's make fun of Mike's sexuality'—"

"—I don't talk like that," Harvey interjected.

"Like what?" Mike asked.

"Like I'm an eight year old girl trying to impersonate Snow White."

"Why can't it be Snow Asian?"

"Excuse me?"

"You know, instead of Snow White—or why not Snow Native American? Or Snow African-American? I mean really, Harvey; racism in the work place?"

"Oh, ha ha ha. I get it, turn the tables. I bet you think you're pretty funny right now, don't you?"

Mike grinned. "I think I'm adorable."

"Go back to work," Harvey said, instantly wiping the expression off of Mike's face as the younger man exited the office and headed towards the next three stacks of papers that sat on his desk.

Four days later, however, both of them were miserable, staring at each other from either side of Mike's cubicle, completely ignoring the work going on around them. A few other associates turned to make snappy remarks at Mike, then stopping dead in their tracks upon seeing Harvey, doing their best to look as though they were actually working.

"Connecticut?" Mike asked, wincing visibly.

"Connecticut," he stated.

Mike let his head fall into his hands and moaned slightly, saying something along the lines of, "Oh God…"

"No, just Harvey. Nonetheless, this is your fault. You should have just told Jessica I was my usual charming self and she wouldn't have given us this one, too. What are you even going to use that bonus for, anyways? More skinny ties?"

"Therapy," Mike deadpanned.

"I'd offer you a drink to make you feel better, but now I know you're a flirty drunk."

"It takes two to—" Mike started, then paused, noticing some of his coworkers looking over at him, "—play Clue."

"Play Clue?" Harvey asked, lowering his voice. "Is that honestly the best thing you could think of? Not, 'It takes two to tango', or something along those lines?"

"I don't want them thinking you and I slept together," Mike muttered, "But I _really _don't want them thinking we danced."

"If you weren't doing almost all my work this week, I'd kill you. After I publically humiliated you, of course."

"When do we leave?" Mike asked, completely ignoring Harvey's comment and allowing a grimace painted clearly on his face.

"Tonight. We'll be back here around noon tomorrow, according to Donna."

"How are we getting there?" Mike questioned, still looking depressed. "Ray?"

"No, rental car. Ray has other clients besides me, and he can't afford to drive us all the way there and back when other people need him."

"What is this—some type of sick, twisted road trip?"

"I plan on not talking to you for the whole thing."

"The whole thing?"

"The whole thing."

"What if we get into a terrible accident and I end up thrown from the car, and lay on the pavement dying, and you cry my name?"

"I'm incredibly disturbed that whole scene came to you so quickly. Do you have these fantasies often? Because truth be told, after last week, I think I'd be more likely to cheer over your corpse than to cry."

"Ohh, I get it—we're back to the '_it's all Mike's fault because I'm Harvey, and I'm perfect'_!"

"I thought that went unsaid—and oh, I still don't talk like Mickey Mouse, so you're going to have to work on that when your home late at night and envisioning me crying over your body."

"Whatever. Anyways, if it wasn't me, it would be some other, far less attractive associate, and then who would you blame? Them?"

"It wouldn't have happened with anyone but you," he said, giving Mike another accusing look.

"…so you only ever want me?"

"No. No. No, I meant—"

Mike hissed slightly. "—Gee, I don't know, Harvey, that sounds like an awful amount of commitment. I mean, we barely know each other—"

"—shut up," Harvey said, pinching his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. "Jesus, this must be what parenthood feels like."

"If you're my '_parent figure_', then I think I should call social services."

Harvey groaned softly, squeezing shut his eyes, and Mike could almost see from where he sat that his boss was making a mental note to bring heavy duty painkillers.

"Hey—are you alright?" Mike asked, his tone instantly softening.

"Yeah," Harvey responded, blinking slowly and avoiding the fluorescent lights. "On occasion, when your voice and Louis's voice both vex my brain within the same hour, then I find out I have to go on yet another uncomfortable trip with you, I get a headache. Worst case scenario, you drive, alright?"

"Sure, just don't throw up."

"My stomach has more dignity than that, thanks. Go home and pack a bag—be back around seven, and the car will be out front."

OoOoO

Despite the fact that Mike was going on a long, uncomfortable road trip with his boss, who he had accidentally slept with in Vegas, and who had sworn he wasn't going to talk to Mike, Mike wasn't in too terrible of a mood. Sure, a slightly sick Harvey wasn't going to be fantastic, and doubly so if he wasn't going to like loud noises that came with music, but what was the worst that could happen? This wasn't Vegas—there wasn't the same excessive amount of alcohol and questionable substances, and there was no money to win that would make them high off of life itself—so the two of them should be fine. Mike would just turn on his iPod, not put it on random (the risk of Katy Perry haunting his ears was too high), and crank out a petulant Harvey. Hey-maybe there would be some scenery to look at!

He wasn't as lucky.

When he arrived at the car, Harvey was sitting with a blank expression on his face on the passenger side, his expensive fine leather bag tossed haphazardly in the back-seat. Mike opened the door and placed his much more worn one next to Harvey's, then crept around to the other side of the car, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

"Did you take an Advil?" Mike asked tentatively, his voice almost a whisper.

Harvey smirked. "Six."

"Six?" Mike asked disbelievingly.

"Yeah," Harvey, responded, a grin slowly replacing the smirk.

"Shit, Harvey—"

"Mike?" He asked the younger man sitting in the driver's seat. "Am I stoned?"

"Uh, well—" Mike didn't want to freak Harvey out, "—I guess that depends." Mike outstretched his hand, holding up four fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Harvey frowned, and then his face lit up with realisation. "_Those_ are fingers? That—" he said, nodding at Mike, "—makes sense. I thought they were fish sticks."

"Crap, we have to get you to a hospital—"

"—no." Harvey stated.

"No?"

"No. 'Cause, if you do that—" he waved a finger wildly, "—Jessica will get susp-suspi-curious. And she'll look into you, and figure out you didn't go to Harvard. Then we'll get fired, and go to jail." Harvey suddenly straightened, his face dead serious.

"Mike!"

"Yeah?"

"You _really_ wouldn't do well in jail. You-you—you're like… you. Annd that's jail. Crap, you'd be like the Jake Gyllenhaal of the showers! Yeah, you can't go to jail. So I'll just sleep, and if I stop breathing, then we can go to the hospital, okay?"

"Harvey, if you stop breathing, you'll be dead."

"Oh, that's just what they want you to think."

Mike sighed, and started the car. "How long ago did you take the Advil?"

Harvey made a face, and started counting on his fingers. "Erm…twenty minutes? You were slow. I was waiting here, an' my head hurt so…"

_He didn't drive, _Mike thought, _so let's be thankful for the little things._

"Alright, so you aren't overdosing, and you do have a point."

"Even high I'm smarter than you," he said flatly.

"Thanks," Mike said sarcastically. "Anyway, the plan stays the same—I drive us to Connecticut overnight, you sleep it off, and in the morning I'll sleep, then we'll make it to the meeting around ten. After that, we can head home a bit later, because trust me, you're going to feel awful tomorrow."

"I feel too good to protest," Harvey said.

Mike pulled out onto the street, trying to ignore the inebriated Harvey who was suddenly mystified by both Mike and the city around him. Mike couldn't help but pull out his phone and snap several pictures of Harvey's expression, and Mike couldn't be sure he would ever see his boss looking this excited again.

"Mike," Harvey said as the two reached the city limits. "Has anyone ever told you that you're majestic?"

"Um, no, I can't say they have," Mike responded, trying to focus on the road and traffic in front of him instead of the eight year old version of Harvey beside him.

"Well, you are. Really majestic. And kind of beautiful, actually…" Harvey said seriously, assessing Mike's face.

"Thanks," Mike said sincerely.

"Yeah, beautiful. And majestic. Like a porpoise."

Mike held back his snort of laughter. "Yeah, Harv? What about Louis?"

"He is… a flamingo!"

"And you? What are you?"

"I'm Harvey, Mike. Honestly, don't ask stupid questions."

Mike let silence fill the car, then watched in horror as Harvey picked up his phone.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mike asked.

"Calling Donna," he said simply.

"Why?"

"I need to tell her how beautiful you are."

"Uh, y'know what?" Mike asked, snatching away the phone. "I think it would mean more to her if you told her in person. Women are weird like that."

"Your eyes are blue," Harvey said, staring blankly out his window, watching as the city lights slowly became fewer and farther apart.

"Yes, and your eyes are brown," Mike said, quickly getting uncomfortable.

"No, you don't get it—blue is my favourite colour."

"Thanks? Brown eyes look good on you."

"No, no. That night? In Vegas?"

"Yeah?"

"I can't remember it. Not really. All I can remember is blue. Your blue."

Mike nods, a million thoughts racing through his head at a speed he hadn't thought possible, trying desperately to think of something to say to comfort the older man. The darkness outside of the car windows has drastically increased and he feels himself dim, as though with Harvey barely conscious and the city he called home behind him, he could drop the cockiness that he had worn as a second skin for the past week. The traffic thins and less red tail lights become visible, and Mike wonders how many people in the world were sitting in their cars and going through the same thing. He was willing to bet very few.

The best he could come up with was, "You should try to get some sleep."

Harvey flopped down sideways, using Mike's lap as a pillow.

For a few minutes, both of them were completely quiet, and all noise came from the exterior of the car.

"Mike?" Harvey asked again, breaking the silence.

"…yes?" Mike responded softly, trying to convince the Harvey-shaped lap creature to go back to sleep.

"Just…thought I'd let you know, this is the second time we've '_slept together_'."

All Mike could think to say was, "Shit."

OoOoO

**So… second time, complete. Not as funny as the first, I don't think, but whatever. Harvey's OOC for obvious reasons (being high) because I feel like there are a lot of "Mike's drunk, Harvey's sober" stories, but I promise I'll turn the tables eventually. **

**Thanks to brokenclaws, who reviewed first, and all anonymous reviewers—I'm always flattered by those since you don't have an account, but still take time to comment. Thanks everyone! **

**LeahxLeah**


	3. Third Time

**Third Time—On Harvey's Boat**

After a few months of working at Pearson Hardman, Mike had started to realise something—the richer people were, the more they bought things that they didn't need purely for the sake of having them. At first, this seemed stale and pompous, given the amount of people starving worldwide, but then it became apparent to Mike that once you became a member of that one percent of the population, you were constantly competing with your peers.

Rich men, Mike found, were the worst. This was true particularly with arbitrary things that may have been nice, but weren't the type of things that could make anyone happy. A bottle of wine, despite the price tag, was always going to be empty after you drank all its contents.

The best example he could think of was an argument between two men he had overheard while he'd been out with Harvey schmoozing a client. The two were sitting a few tables behind them at a restaurant, but had completely abandoned their meals in favour of passionately discussing which of them was wearing better cologne.

"_Mine is Armani—I had it imported from Italy!"_

"_Oh, really? Because I had mine custom made for me in Austria!"_

Personally, Mike was partial to scentless deodorant, fresh air and laundry.

The whole thing seemed to be an eternal pissing contest—a very expensive pissing contest, but a pissing contest nonetheless. Everything was measured in quality and price, from toilet paper to houses, clothing to significant others.

Mike thought it was sort of sad, really, to have objects people have killed over at your fingertips, but to have no desire to use them.

So it came as no surprise to him when he found out that Harvey had a boat that he'd never used, perched massively in a private harbour, neglected by a person who had only bought it to say he owned one.

"Poor boat," Mike had said empathetically when Harvey had mentioned it casually.

"It's one thing to get attached to clients, Mike, but it's just bizarre when you feel the same way about an inanimate object you've never seen," Harvey said, shaking his head in amazement at his associate who was looking genuinely grief-stricken at the idea of a boat that never got used.

"You can't be human. Do you realise that? You honestly can't be human. I'm thinking… vampire," Mike said, nodding slowly to himself.

"As much as you might get hearts and tiny stars in your eyes whenever you look at me, I can guarantee you that I don't sparkle-nor do I scale your apartment building to watch you sleep."

"Oh, that wasn't you?" Mike asked. "I should probably call the police, then."

Harvey nipped the smile that was forming at the edge of his mouth. "What does it matter if I don't use my boat? I only have it in case relatives come to town, in which case I can make a swift getaway and avoid traffic."

"Just because it doesn't talk doesn't mean it has no feelings—take me and my bike, for example."

Harvey groaned.

"Say what you like about it, Harvey, but Mercutio and I—"

"—Mercutio?"

"—have been through a lot together. I saved up for him for a whole year before I started working here, and he—"

"—it has a _gender_?"

"—never failed me. Not once. Actually, that makes him significantly better than every friend I've ever had—plus he cares about me, which makes him better than you."

Harvey's face flashed serious for a brief second, twirling one of his baseballs loftily in his hand, watching the stitching blur as his hand moved faster. "Mike, trust me on this one—save your adoration for things that can adore you back."

"Careful, you sound like you have a soul—wouldn't want to give people the wrong impression," Mike retorted cockily, earning a grin from Harvey as the older man tossed the ball up and caught it again swiftly, the weight in his hand firm and reassuring.

"I have a soul," he said. "It just happens to be in a bonds account, which renders it utterly useless until an unforeseeable date."

"Prove it, then."

"How would I do that, exactly? Would you like a brain scan from a qualified neurosurgeon or psychotherapist?"

"I bet you know a lot of therapists."

"Your humour is so bad it makes Louis's jokes look intelligent, kid." Harvey retorted. "Seriously, what do you want?"

"I—" Mike thought for a second, chewing his lip pensively, "—think you should go visit your boat this weekend. And actually go—don't just photo shop images of you with a captain's hat on to the deck of some random boat."

"Fine—why don't you just come with me, if you're so damn insistent on my soullessness?"

Mike grinned coyly at his boss. "Now Harvey, this wouldn't be a con to, 'accidentally' sleep with me again, would it?"

"No, I'm far too busy between Louis's wife and your girlfriend," his boss responded wittily, ignoring the fact that Mike had brought up the topic that had been covered by the Vegas rule.

OoOoO

It had occurred to Mike sometime earlier that maybe getting plastered _before_ heading over to Harvey's boat was probably a bad idea, but that particular voice in his head wasn't on speaking terms with him. After Jenny had stormed out in a fit of rage, her blonde hair swirling around her tightened jawline, he found himself lying dejectedly on the couch and staring at a bottle of Vodka.

It sent a siren song his way, wooing him with its bitter and numbing taste that could easily be drowned by a splash of flavour. The bottle promised him the world in order to get him to drink it, whispering things in his ear that alluded logic:

_You just lost your girlfriend over a petty spat—but be real, Mike, she never really wanted you anyways. If she had, she would have picked you over Trevor when they were dating. She would've loved you the way she loved him, the way you always resented him for. She would have kissed you the same way, and her lips wouldn't carry Trevor's taste, no matter how long he's been gone._

_Drink me._

No—Mike rationalized. He couldn't—after all, he was meeting Harvey soon. What kind of impression would it make if he showed up drunk?

But the bottle argued back, this time with a gleeful smirk that Mike found strange because bottles can't smile.

_Oh, right—Harvey. The guy who you spooned with in a hotel room across the country, the man that you let sleep in your lap. He keeps claiming so vehemently that he doesn't care about you—but you know if you show up there tonight drunk and upset he'll spend the evening subtly finding ways to cheer you up, even if it doesn't benefit him._

_Drink me, because not-so-deep down you want that attention, you want an excuse for him to look at you with that expression that says all the things his words don't. _

"Bullshit," Mike swore at the bottle. "I'm not gay."

_Does it really matter? _The Vodka retaliated. _He's the only person you've ever kissed that doesn't taste like someone else, that doesn't whisper another's name when you're together. _

"We're only 'together' when we're drunk—he's usually pretty distracted."

_Drink me._

"Will you shut up if I do?"

_Absolutely._

No, showing up at Harvey's boat drunk wasn't the plan, but Mike was having a really, really rough night.

Harvey noted something was wrong when he realised Mike was a couple minutes late and had arrived in a cab at the marina, given that 'Mercutio' was his preferred method of transportation. The fact that his associate barely stumbled past security on uneasy legs, however, firmly proved his initial suspicions.

The security guys were giving him strange looks as he let Mike wrap an arm around his neck, which were worsened by Mike shouting, "Carry me, I'm a princess!" at the top of his lungs.

Harvey Specter, however, was not the kind of person who let the judgements of two blue-collar workers bother him, so he firmly clamped a hand over Mike's mouth and dragged him towards the boat.

It was hard to hear through the impromptu-gag, but Harvey thought he could make out Mike saying something along the lines of, "Ooh—kinky."

Harvey kicked him slightly and Mike broke down into hysterical giggles on his shoulder, rubbing his fluffed up hair in the crevice between Harvey's neck and shoulder. The gesture was oddly placed, but Harvey couldn't deny that having a warm body pressed against his was something he hadn't been privileged to in a long time, and he'd missed it. Sure, Mike was drunk and not attracted to him, but the kid was also one of the only people in the world that genuinely adored Harvey—and not for money, either.

"Do I want to know why you showed up here wasted _and late?_" Harvey asked, his tone exasperated, but even drunk Mike managed to catch the glimmer of patience in his eyes.

Harvey felt the smile behind his hand, repressing one of his own when Mike's eyes lit up with the distant lights on the harbour. He shifted his palm slightly, allowing Mike to speak quietly as he moved his associate up onto the deck of his boat.

"Welll…" Mike started, gesturing slightly at the air, "I had _many_ good reasons—I got dumped, and then the bottle of Vodka was being a snarky mother fucker, and _then_ I realised I had to spend more time with _you._ And you'll just make a joke about my penis size, or somethin'."

"Mike," Harvey said slowly, "I would never talk about your penis. Ever. Just saying it makes me extremely uncomfortable."

"Why?" Mike asked. " 's not like you haven't seen it. Unless you closed your eyes, and I'm not _that _bad lookin'. Yeah, I'm actually kinda hot, in case you haven't noticed. Like, not as hot as you, but people still wanna tap this."

Harvey rolled his eyes, unwinding Mike from his torso, grabbing him by the forearms and dropping him hard onto the wood. Mike neglected to notice.

"Wow, this _is_ a big boat! This is like…like the Titanic!" He paused, frowning at his own words. "Let's not invite Leonardo DiCaprio, m'kay?"

"Damn, I'll have to call him and cancel last minute." Harvey responded sarcastically, tugging and expensive chair closer and sitting down beside Mike, who looked up at him resentfully from his position on the deck.

"Well," Mike said. " 'm drunk."

"Really?"

"Shut up. Anywhore, I'm drunk aaaand you're sober, which makes this awkward, so can you get hammered too?" Mike asked, raising his eyebrows at Harvey.

"I'm significantly older than you, and your boss. If I get drunk with you I'd be behaving inappropriately," he said flatly, giving his associate an unimpressed look.

"You were all game for it in Las Vegas."

Harvey was quiet for a moment before muttering, "And look how that turned out."

"Call it a bonding experience," Mike suggested. "After all, during that night we were _significantly _closer than usual." He waggled his eyebrows.

"No," Harvey stated firmly.

"Fine—call it a failed attempt at seduction!"

"I don't know whether I should be more offended that you think I tried to seduce you, or that you think I failed. I'm torn." He said humourlessly.

"I'm heartbroken."

"I'm dealing with an idiot."

"I'm drunk."

"I need a drink."

"Hey!" Mike exclaimed. "We should start a club!"

"Yes," Harvey said dryly. "And we can call it _Alcoholics Anonymous._"

Mike grinned coyly at his boss. "You really shouldn't let me be drunk and miserable alone. That's…_mean. _Like, Louis mean. Or Kyle. I don't like Kyle. He has a dumb name. I mean, what the hell where his parents thinking? _Kyle._ That's almost as bad as a lawyer named Harvey. Shouldn't you be named William? Or Edgar? I mean, it sounds like you're from a cheesy seventies movie."

"At least I'm not named Mike—wait, wait, hang on a minute. Am I honestly arguing with a drunk college drop-out over my name?" He paused.

"Yes," Mike said.

"That was rhetorical."

"I like that kind of dinosaur too."

"Oh god," Harvey said, standing up and crossing the deck towards the fully stocked bar.

OoOoO

Mike had thought his hangover in Vegas was barely shortlisted for one of the top ten worst hangovers of all time, and in many ways, he had been right.

This one, however, wasn't shortlisted at all. It was proudly positioned at number nine, right below some of the most infamous hangovers of world leaders.

"Holy shit," he groaned, almost bursting into tears when he opened his eyes. His brain felt as though it had been squeezed out his ear, put in a glass jar and shaken, and then reinserted through his nose.

The room around him was foreign—the walls were a dark brown and were shifting in and out, as though they were on an electronic switch, and there were very few windows. He groaned again. Then sat up. Then slid back down again, because the air was cool and for some reason the bed he was lying in was incredibly warm.

He rested his cheek on exposed flesh, wondering how Jenny had gotten significantly larger and much more muscular, but not caring. For some reason she smelt much more masculine than usual, but judging by the particular way his muscles complained when he rolled over, the sex had been better. He buried his nose in her skin, inhaling deeply as he wrapped an arm around her neck.

And froze. Why was Jenny's hair so much shorter?

Mike yelped in shock, throwing himself away from the body in horror, clawing at the sheets as though he was a captured animal.

_Oh. My. God. I've been kidnapped. Oh shit. Oh shit. This is bad, this is very, very bad. Harvey was right, I shouldn't have talked to strangers, even if they do have free samples! Oh God—I'm going to die. Here, alone. With a pervert, and not with the Victoria's Secret model I used to jack off to when I was fourteen, either._

The person on the other side of the bed muttered something that sounded vaguely along the lines of his name, and Mike's heart halted abruptly in his chest.

_Oh, fuck—it's moving! Jesus, all I can see is its hair. Is there a person under that mess, or was I abducted by a Labrador? _

The kidnapper rolled over in his sleep, murmuring.

Mike screamed.

As soon as the sound left his mouth, he quickly backpedalled and disentangled himself, hyperventilating so much he fell off the bed. The sheets came with him, wrapping around his ankles and calves in a desperate attempt to hold him in place. Mike had never been more glad to get out of bed.

Harvey woke up at the sound of the bone-crunching _thud_ that typically came from people when they fell flat on their ass, and he propped himself up his elbows with a grin on his face. Any morning that started out with an ungraceful fall that wasn't performed by him was undoubtedly a good one, and he turned on his side expecting to see a partially clothed woman.

The expression instantly sunk off of his face when he realise he was sadly mistaken.

"Rapist!" Mike shrieked, looking up at him in horror and disgust. His face morphed, however when he saw his boss and it occurred to him that, _shit, we did it again._

Harvey sent him a look of disbelief. "Again?" He asked, rubbing his face with his hand and getting the sleep out of his eyes, still managing to appear as confident and cocky as he would be at the office. "Jesus, Mike, can't you keep your hands off of me?"

Mike was in shock, having just switched from mind-numbing fear to an _oh shit_ state of mind, staring at Harvey as though he was a creature from the deep. Then he burst out laughing.

"Hahaha—I couldn't even," he wheezed, "take you seriously if you—" he gasped for breath, "—told me my grandmother died. Holy crap, Harvey—your hair!"

Harvey scowled, glancing up at his lion like mane that now closely resembled the kind of style surfers would have sported after strenuous hours on the water. A few pieces stuck up at odd ends, and some lighter tufts were revealed that reminded Mike of the photo of Harvey he saw from his time at the DA's office.

Mike grinned cheekily. "Go back to sleep—I kind of want to pet it."

Harvey rolled his eyes. "You missed that opportunity when you screamed and then fell off the bed."

"Where are my clothes?"

"Why would I know, kid?"

"You're…I dunno, you, I guess," he said, clambering awkwardly to his feet. Harvey quickly became _very_ aware of the fact the two of them had sex last night, spotting a bite mark on Mike's neck that most definitely hadn't been there before and seemed to be the general size of his jaw. His associate was clad in a pair of his boxers, and if Harvey was the kind of man who would feel uncomfortable, he would have now.

As Mike bent over to look under the bed, he became quickly aware of something else.

"Mike?" he asked, his voice hesitant for once.

"Yeah?" Mike responded, looking up at him with bright blue eyes.

"What's that on your finger?"

Mike looked down at his left hand, his face instantly paling at the sight that met his eyes; an expensive looking, plain gold band wrapped itself perfectly around his index finger, jarring against his smooth skin.

"What the fu—"

Harvey grabbed at the younger man's hand and pulled it towards him, glaring at the ring in a mix of anger and fear.

"I won that ring when I was sixteen in a poker game."

Mike's breathing became rapid and he tugged his hand back towards himself in disgust, yanking on the ring and desperately trying to twist it off—but the ring held fast, and Mike was left panting and shooting Harvey terrified looks.

All Harvey could manage to say was, "You've got to be kidding me."

OoOoO

**I rewrote this THREE times… yeah. Nuff said. Apologies for the wait, and the lower standard of this chapter, but I had no idea what scenario I should've used, so I listened to my fish, Balthazar. And he's a fish, so the best thing he could come up with was **_**boat.**_

**So, ladies and gents, could I have some help? Any ideas in which Mike and Harvey could sleep together? **

**Also—I posted a poll on my profile, asking who from Suits would be the best male stripper. My editor and I are in debate over this, so I'd love to know what your thoughts are.**

**I'm team Harvey on this one :D**

**LeahxLeah **


	4. Fourth Time

**Fourth Time—In An Elevator**

The ring was a simple band. It might have been gold, or just gold plated—Mike had never found himself contemplating a piece of jewellery before, so he couldn't be sure. He also found himself not caring. The tawny circle was worn down, having had its shiny exterior scraped away by Harvey's fingers in his youth, when the older man had been full of hope and ignorant to the ways of the world. Mike had hard time thinking of Harvey like that; like him. But he knew at one point who Harvey was then must have been not entirely unlike who Mike was now, if his boss hired him.

A sixteen year old Harvey. Probably just as cocky and sure of himself as the current Harvey, but a little less jaded. More human, and more open to emotions. Mike found himself savouring the notion, and wondered if young Harvey ever contemplated giving anyone else this ring. It didn't really matter now—the ring wrapped around his pale finger, kissing his flesh as though it couldn't think of a better owner.

It wouldn't come off; no amount of various lubricants could slide off the gilded metal from the ivory digit, and sheer force had only resulted in bruises and threats of, "Mike, I swear to God, if you bend that ring…"

So it stayed on, under a thin layer of bandages which Mike could quite honestly claim came from 'a boating accident'.

The ring caused no massive crisis between the two of them, and Mike found himself quite comfortable with the band. He knew it was much more significant than Harvey let on, and he couldn't help but feel like he was carrying a piece of Harvey with him—warm and wrapped around him, painful and condescending, cocky and shiny. It felt odd to run his hands over his face when he took the Band-Aids off, the cool substance touching his skin.

It hit Mike, however, when he found himself sitting on his couch at home one evening, gazing at the ring, that Harvey had given it to him. Not just asked him to look after it, or tossed it at him for a weekend—he'd given it to Mike. There were undoubtedly memories so convoluted in that plain band that it would take years to fully understand them all, and Harvey himself had said it was something of a good luck charm.

And he'd given it to Mike.

Sure, he had been drunk at the time, but many philosophers argued that the state of inebriation was the only honest state human beings knew of. An honest Harvey was impossible to envision, but yet…there was the ring, and the three nights the two of them had tumbled into bed next to one another, and the occasional moments Mike would feel his heart stumble at dark brown eyes, and—

_Come on, Mikey. I'm having a hard time making it any clearer for you._

Mike frowned at his own brain, which consisted of him frowning up at his own forehead. "What are you talking about?"

_Holy crap—what more do you need, flash cards? Kid, you've got it bad. Sorry._

"What? No. No, you can't do that to me—no no no, that's not fair! He's—he's Harvey! He's…well, a he, and even if that wasn't the case, he's still a total jackass! And emotionally underdeveloped! That's—that's like making me love a seahorse! You can't—YOU CAN'T MAKE ME LOVE A SEAHORSE!"

_Calm down. Yes, it completely blows, but are you honestly telling me you didn't see it coming? You started dressing like him, watched the same movies as him, started talking like him…_

"I—" Mike was quickly becoming a wreck, lost for words and shaking in the lapses of silence. "N-no, that was 'c-cause of hero worship-p, a-and d-d-daddy issues, a-and—"

His brain was quiet, allowing him to process the emotions running through his veins, white hot against the thick red blood that continued to flow no matter how much he felt like everything should have stopped dead in his tracks so he could understand.

Suffice to say, Mike didn't have a very good weekend.

OoOoO

As often as Mike found himself telling Harvey that he either wasn't human or had no soul, he found himself feeling empathy towards the older man when he strode casually into work Monday morning. No one pointed out any minor differences in his appearance that would lead them to conclude that he'd also suffered a rough weekend, but they were there—the slight grimace on his smooth lips, a wrinkle on his otherwise flawless suit, and the way he refused to meet Mike's gaze.

Harvey's weekend was just as awful as his.

That shouldn't have come as a surprise to him, given that Harvey's good luck charm was in a place that made him reconsider its luck, and the two of them had more or less proved that the whole, _sex while drunk_ thing wasn't a fluke. The intoxicated versions of themselves were attracted to one another, and now they had to avoid being around one another at any social events that involved drinking.

Mike could only imagine how awkward it would be if the two of them got drunk schmoozing a client—especially since most of their clients were heterosexual, older males who held Harvey in the highest regard.

That may or may not have been a similar thought process to the one that was running through Harvey's head, given the dark thunderclouds that seemed to follow him around for the rest of the day. Mike did his best to ignore the puddle of angst that had drenched the space between them and work, but he was reminded every time he caught a glimpse of dark brown eyes how screwed the two of them really were.

Mike always assumed that if Harvey chose to show an emotion, it would be joy, and it would only arise during a victory that he'd fought hard for—but here was the opposite, only looking at him through reflective surfaces and in brief flashes. The poker face Harvey was so proud of was intact, but when he thought no one was looking, he'd tense his jaw and exhale quietly through his nose. It was all the clues Mike could have asked for to decrypt the mysterious feelings of a man who hated such fanciful things, and he relished knowing that Harvey did have a heart.

But Mike was empathetic by nature, so he avoided Harvey as much as possible, only dropping pile after pile of briefs on his desk, getting a half-assed, "Thanks," each time.

Around three o'clock, Donna finally hauled him by his tie over to her desk, sitting him on a chair and positioning his seat so Harvey couldn't see him from his office. Her look was the most stern and borderline psychotic Mike had ever seen, her eyes screaming murder and her posture inquisitive.

"What did you _do _to him?" She asked, her voice almost astonished. "I've never seen him like this, and I've known him for so many years I would be revealing how old I am by counting them. As much as he likes using the 'puppy' metaphor on you, he genuinely looks like you kicked him."

"Nothing—he just happens to be sulking."

OoOoO

As soon as he thought everyone trickled home, Harvey found himself alone in his office with an expensive malt of scotch that Jessica had given him to lighten up some of their more tight clients.

He polished that bottle off within twenty minutes, and even then he thought he could still taste remnants of Mike in his mouth, clinging to his taste buds so sweetly he couldn't help but want to consume their owner. His chest hurt, then, and he popped open the whiskey he kept under his desk in case of emergency, trying to hollow himself out.

No dice.

And then, to top this wonderful day off, he started hallucinating.

Mike was standing at his office door, looking half amused and half uncomfortable at his drunk boss, spread out across the leather couch and looking miserable. Harvey pressed his hand to his face, trying to obscure his vision of his youthful associate that he knew would end up respecting him less by the end of the night. Mike frowned at him, finally walking through the door and striding across the office.

"Okay, I get that you're a complete drama queen on a good day, but this is just bull. You're going to kill your already tortured liver if you keep going like this—come on, I'm taking you home," Mike said.

Harvey grinned lazily, peeling his large hand away from his face. "If I knew you were offering that kind of help, I would've stopped after the first bottle."

"Wow, you really _are_ attracted to me when you're drunk."

"Duh." Harvey said intelligently, waving his arms at Mike. "Can you help me up? I'm stuck."

"You're stuck…on the couch?"

"It's eating meeee!"

"Fine, you massive five year old," Mike said, leaning close to Harvey to wrap an arm around his back, their chests brushing. Harvey made a noise akin to a purr of contentment before clinging to Mike with all the fierceness he could muster and tugging the younger man to his chest.

"Ahh! No, Harvey, no!" Mike yelled, scrambling off of him and fighting off octopus arms that were worming their way under his shirt.

Smooth hands ran up over his ribs and shoulder blades, and then wrapped back around to his front, pulling Mike flush to Harvey's stomach. Mike flailed slightly, pushing with an unstoppable force against an immovable object. His boss failed to give up, however, and Mike saw only one window of escape from the considerably more muscular arms than his—a leap to freedom.

He tipped himself sideways off of the couch, taking a thoroughly entangled around him Harvey with him. The two of them hung momentarily in space before crashing to the ground, Harvey on top of Mike and Mike breathless beneath him.

Mike wriggled out while Harvey chuckled at the wiliness of his usually more docile associate, managing to leap to his feet and haul the older man up by the arm.

"Elevator!" Mike exclaimed, breathless. Harvey murmured softly his agreement, pressing his lips to the skin below Mike's ear and sending a shock running through the younger man, whispering things that Mike thought counted towards a sexual harassment lawsuit in a low undertone.

"O-okay," he stuttered, letting go of Harvey's arm as they crossed the dark office, quite aware of the fact that Harvey had no risk of wandering off, plastered against Mike's torso and neck. He tried to ignore the soft lips and wet tongue that were tracing his jugular as though he was something considerably more edible than a person, and focus on his feet, but he ended up tripping once or twice on a chair or an invisible object in the dark, giving Harvey the opportunity to slam him up against a wall before he side stepped his boss again.

Mike sighed in relief when he finally reached the silver doors, hitting the down button as many times as he possibly could as rapidly as possible, while Harvey chuckled in his ear and Mike fought off his hands, which were drifting to Mike's belt buckle.

"Careful," Harvey said breathlessly, his voice slightly more coarse than usual and humour in his voice, "you might break it."

"Hands off the merchandise!" Mike hissed back in the dark, trying to swat at the hands, but they seemed to come from every direction and he had no discernable way to fight them off.

The elevator dinged and opened, bright light filling the space and pulling back the dark curtain. Mike squinted for a second before tugging Harvey through the doors after him by his tie, for which he got a noise that was somewhere between a complaint for rough-housing his clothes and a happy moan.

Mike propped Harvey up on the opposite wall before sliding to the opposite side, glaring at the intoxicated man, who was grinning at him mercilessly. His hair stuck up from falling off the couch in comparison to Harvey's, which remained smooth and flawless despite Mike's attempts to free himself.

The annoying music didn't play at night, and for that, Mike was thankful, because otherwise his God-awful day would quickly a whole lot worse.

"Hey," Mike said to himself under his breath, "At least things can't get worse."

And then, as though Mike had gone and thoroughly pissed off the universe, the elevator jerked to a stop, sending an already wobbly Harvey plunging towards him and knocking him flat off his feet. Mike barely had time to process the pain his back and head were in before the lights flickered off, and the only thing he could see in the dark space was Harvey's grin, a few inches from his face.

"Told you that you might break it," he said, dipping his nose to press against Mike's.

"Get off me," Mike groaned, and for once since the night began, Harvey complied, slipping off of Mike and lying down next to him, running his hands up and down Mike's thighs.

"Fuck, that hurt," said Mike, trying to twist his legs from Harvey's grasp and failing terribly in the enclosed space. He propped himself up into a more or less sitting position, Harvey's hand tracing the buttons on his shirt. Mike slid back until his spine was pressed comfortably against the wall, from which the cheesy elevator music began to play again.

"Shit," Mike said, knocking his head back against the speaker.

The music got louder.

"Do you think security will come to let us out?" Mike asked the overjoyed Harvey, who was using Mike's position as a way to try to writhe his way between Mike's legs.

"Nah, not for another hour. It's eleven right now, and the new shift does their rounds at twelve," he said, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Mike's collarbone. "But don't stress about it, kid. It's only sixty minutes…" he sighed up Mike's neck, "…aaaand I can think of a few things we could do to pass the time."

"I really, really hope you're referring to playing charades."

"Nope."

"Twenty-one questions?"

Harvey laughed, grabbing Mike by his shirt and pulling him gently to the ground, so that he was crouched over his associate and running his thumb over Mike's cheek.

"God, you're adorable. You know that, right? I hope you do, otherwise I'd have to make a habit of tellin' you jusssst how much I love that smile of yours…"

Mike, by nature, was a very curious person, and at that exact moment in time, he faced a very curious problem. He thought of the way his brain had so politely informed him, '_you've got it bad, kiddo,' _and had caused him unlimited angst and tears over the weekend thinking of the man that somewhere along the line he had fallen for. He thought of the ring wrapped around his finger that had been impossible to pry off, thought of the other three times he and Harvey had ended up positioned like this, and thought of the way his poor, exhausted heart had fluttered when Harvey shot him that look—_I'm proud of you, Mike. _Or maybe that had never been the true meaning of the look. Maybe it had been, _I care about you, Mike, _or even, _you mean the world to me, Mike. _

Or, on a thousand to one chance, _I love you, Mike. _

And now that Harvey was stuck in the, 'only honest state human beings knew of', and he was sober, Mike realised that it would be unfair not to ask him some questions.

"Yeah? What else do you like, besides my smile?" He asked. Harvey smiled, tracing Mike's features with his fingertips.

"Your eyes. Your lips. Your nose—I realllly like your nose. Everything."

"What do you mean, 'everything'?"

"You—" Harvey said, clambering off him and shaking a finger at his face, "—are likeee…hm, my favourite car. Yeah. Or like, a really nice painting. Beautiful. But, nottt _too_ expensive, 'cause you aren't perfect, but I love your flaws more than anything about you."

Mike felt something stick in his throat and an emotion a little sweeter than pain slid down his veins into his chest, where it pooled in his heart and slowed the beating of the vital organ. Suddenly he was fixated on the small lines in the corner of Harvey's eyes, and the pale white of his perfectly aligned teeth. Part of him knew he shouldn't ask for more, shouldn't be manipulating Harvey into telling him everything in a darkened elevator under the influence of alcohol, but he couldn't resist, and he didn't stop the older man.

"But d'you wanna know a secret, puppy?" Harvey asked.

"Yeah," Mike responded, his voice thicker than usual.

"I wish you were a car, or a painting, or even a puppy," he said, running his fingers through Mike's hair. "'Cause then, I could just buy you, an' you'd be mine. But I can't, cause you're a person, and eventually 'm gonna have to watch you love Rachel, or Jenny, or someone else. Not me. If I bought you, you'd be mine forever, an' then—"

Harvey's sentence was cut short and the man was silenced completely by Mike's lips pressing against his, kissing away the words and the associations that came with them.

Hands instantly darted to undoing Mike's buttons, and in the privacy of the darkness, when Harvey likely wouldn't remember Mike was sober in the morning, Mike found himself muttering against the warm body and affectionate fingers, "Screw it all," and forgetting everything.

OoOoO

**Firstly, I'd like to apologise for the extreme delay with this chapter—I went on vacation for the spring break to Europe, where I thoroughly missed writing and all of you.**

**Secondly, I'd like to thank Nina and everyone else who egged me on when I returned to update, and all the lovely reviews.**

**Finally, I'm sorry if this doesn't fit with the other ones in this series, but a mildly angsty one needed to be done so the rest could be funny. I'm not happy with it, but I rewrote it three times and decided to just move on to the next chapter.**

**Thanks and apologies!**

**LeahxLeah**


	5. Fifth Time

**Fifth Time—At Mike's Apartment**

Mike was now almost familiar with waking up and not knowing where he was. The routine was nearly set in stone—he'd stumble out of bed with a massive hangover, look around in confusion, and then scream when he saw Harvey. He was proud to say the screaming had decreased; the only person he'd slept with in months had been his boss, and now he didn't mutter any other name in his sleep.

He knew he'd fallen for Harvey the way he knew that getting punch hurt—from experience.

His heart would get broken, but hell, hadn't it been that way before? Maybe he'd get fired. Maybe Harvey would stop mentoring him. Maybe the sky would fall and Louis would get laid.

A million 'maybes' dancing around inside his head as though they owned the place, while the answers lay in him uttering the question in the first place.

Mike knew how to handle that sort of pain that came from someone he adored not feeling the same way—he rented the entire Die Hard series, ate a tub of ice cream and drank a case of beer, and then he was fine. And he would be fine, he knew. Because there wasn't a single item on his lifelong list of hardships that had broken him beyond repair—not when his dad treated him poorly, not when his parents had died, not when he'd been kicked out of school—Mike was a rock. He'd handle this smoothly, once he diminished the hope that he and Harvey could end up together.

But they would be an awful couple, if he thought about it. Harvey would be bossy and his usual asshole self, and Mike would be stubborn and equally hard headed. They'd be an unstoppable force combined with an immovable object.

Undoubtedly, they wouldn't make a very good couple.

Or a perfect one.

Then again, Mike had never thought of himself as an optimist.

Harvey would reject him in the nicest way Harvey could, although that wasn't saying a lot. He might say "Sorry, kid," at the end of it, but that was the best Mike could hope for. He wouldn't try to hurt him, at least, but at his core, Harvey was a lawyer.

He was shallow—he liked fast cars, pretty women, sports, and winning. Looking good and being powerful were the most important things in his life, and nothing was ever a domestic cycle. Life itself for Harvey was just a phase between birth and death when he could indulge himself and not have to worry about anything larger than Pearson Hardman. He blatantly denied he had any emotions—he would never be complex enough to fall in love, Mike reasoned. Not enough so to fall in love with Mike, anyways.

But on the fifth time they slept together, and Mike woke up staring at his own ceiling, he realised that maybe besides the fact that Harvey was a lawyer, he was also a human being.

Mike wasn't lying in some strange hotel, on Harvey's boat, in a car, in an elevator—he was comfortably curled up in his own bed. The sheets were warm, and the sun was filtering in through dusty windows.

His room was clean except for the jacket, shoes, shirts and ties tossed on the floor; his and Harvey's clothing from the night before dancing together on the hardwood. Their bodies were tangled up in a similar manner—one of Mike's knees was in between Harvey's legs, their calves brushing in the almost darkness, Mike's head under Harvey's chin where he could hear a soft pulse. The sun was coming distantly over the city's skyline, but Mike was more interested in the mixing tones of their skin than the ones on the horizon. Harvey was tan against his pale, muscular against his lithe—and his skin surprisingly soft while it rubbed on Mike's. The sheets lay still around them, their pale white not as soft as the kind Harvey would cover his mattress with, but covered in the saccharine scent of Mike that he couldn't replicate.

Harvey's chin pressed down on Mike's forehead, and Mike could feel warm exhales trickling down the side of his face to his spine. He wondered if the weight was too much for Harvey—after all, his ear was resting on Harvey's clavicle, but Harvey's arms told him otherwise. They pulled Mike tightly into the other man, almost as though he was used as a safety blanket for the night. Oddly enough, Mike was okay with that. He'd never thought of himself as particularly needy, but the second he was given excess affection he relished it as though this was the only source he could seek it from. And before Harvey had woken up, it was all he could do to shower Mike in it.

The feeling that curled inside Mike's chest confused him endlessly; it was an ecstasy so strong it hurt, running through his nerves and fibres until it sunk all other emotions. It dug its teeth and claws around his heart until he was paralysed against Harvey, helpless to do anything but lie there and rise and fall with the other man's breaths. Part of him loathed it, but the rest of him wanted more—wanted to drown and gasp for air a thousand times over if it meant being caged in Harvey's arms.

As though on cue, Harvey shifted slightly, and Mike closed his eyes. He was tempted to see what happened if he wasn't the first person to wake up, if Harvey realised where they were and where he was laying.

At first, his body stiffened, tugging Mike in even closer before turning his head slightly and seeing the pictures of Mike and his grandmother mounted on the wall. Then his frame loosened, his head dipping back onto the pillow, pulling his chin away from Mike's forehead. Mike peered through his eyelashes to spot Harvey's tanned skin rub against the white sheets and couldn't bite down the thought that this was where Harvey belonged, lying with him before the day had started.

Harvey stretched arms slightly, a soft noise escaping his lips that could have been a groan from Mike's weight, but sounded more like one of pleasure from the stretch of his biceps. He looked down at Mike and snorted, his tone somewhere between adoring and condescending that his puppy had fallen asleep curled up on his chest.

Just when Mike expected Harvey to nudge him awake—or just plain push him off—Harvey had to go and do the unexpected. He couldn't just be vain, shallow and self-indulgent, like Mike had originally thought of him as; no, he was Harvey. And his greatest advantage would always be surprise.

He wrapped his arms around Mike again, tilting his head so he could get a better look at the sleeping figure resting on him before leaning forward to press his lips to Mike's forehead. It was a brief, chaste kiss that lasted only for a second, with soft skin pressing over the flat plane, but Mike felt something lingering behind it.

Minutes passed, and just as soon as Mike began to think he'd imagined the whole thing, Harvey's hands wound their way up into his hair. He'd never really appreciated before the fact that at some point in his life Harvey had been taught some sort of instrument, but he realised it now when Harvey's long fingers wound their way around a long lock of hair he'd told Mike he needed to cut. There was no calluses on them, however, so he likely hadn't played in a long time—or maybe their length was purely from extending his hand across his keyboard to quickly it almost blurred. The same hands that had flipped through papers, shook hands with wealthy clients, toppled empires, built industries, ruined lives, saved Mike's life, now rubbed his scalp as though it was the most important thing they'd ever done.

Maybe there was some sort of irony in the fact that a man as great as Harvey Specter found the most purpose in life spooning with an ex-drug dealer, but it sat in the air anyways, uncaring towards its own reason. It was there, Mike realised, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

He lifted his head up, staring into warm brown eyes that looked back at him in shock before turning cold and hard, caught unaware by the fact he was awake. His own blue gaze remained soft, his hands remaining on Harvey's chest, where they could feel his solid heartbeat.

Mike could say a million things—_don't leave. Say the word and I'll be yours. I love you. Please love me. Never change. I love all of your flaws. I won't leave you. I'm not like anyone else you've ever loved. I won't break your heart—but if I do, you can have mine to replace it. You can stay here, if you're lonely at your place. You'd never tell anyone that, but I think you are. I'll keep you company. I'll sit with you at two in the morning and discuss cult classic movies that no one else knows. I'll make Star Trek jokes to cheer you up. If you want me to be, I'll be yours forever. All that lovey dovey crap that comes up towards that end of every rom com? If you want it, you can have it. I'll give it to you. I won't try to fix you. I'm Mike, remember? Not some dumb bimbo that finds your wallet more magnetic than your eyes._

_Whether or not you're willing to admit it, I'm your best friend—I've seen all your faults and still adore you. I get your bad one-liners. _

_You should love me too, you asshole._

But when Mike opened his mouth, the words that trickled out were, "I can make you cornflakes."

Harvey relaxed, unwinding his fingers from Mike's hair and letting his hands fall from Mike's body, chuckling slightly under his breath.

"Sounds like a delicacy." He responded, his nose almost brushing Mike's.

"They're all the rage in France," Mike said, rubbing his big toe in a circle on the sheets.

"America, too."

"I have the best flavoured kind."

"Really?" Harvey asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Corn flavoured."

"Corn flavoured corn flakes? You don't spare any expenses, do you?"

"For the prestigious Harvey Specter? I went all the way to the grocery store last Tuesday just to pick them up especially for you."

"Thought so. I'm going to buy you coffee beans to make coffee with if we end up at my place next time."

"Thanks," Mike said, pressing his chin into Harvey's chest. "You know, we were sober last night," he said.

"You were sober in the elevator."

"You remember that?"

Harvey paused, chewing the edge of his lips slightly. "I said…some things. Some things I shouldn't have said. Things I didn't mean."

"You didn't mean them?" Mike asked, and Harvey had a hard time resisting to the light azure eyes dancing before him. It wasn't fair. Not in the slightest.

He was quiet for a second. "I shouldn't have said them. Either way, you got to try it sober. I figured I'd give it a shot."

"And?"

"What, do you want me to rate you? Well, I give you a ten on the tongue, but only a six point five on the leg work—"

"Hilarious. You know what I mean."

Harvey rolled his eyes. "You're really fishing for a compliment here, aren't you? Fine, Mike—I've had worse."

Mike grinned. "Have you had better?"

A quiet sigh escaped his lips. "I've trained you too well for my own good, kid."

"Answer the question, Mr. Specter," Mike teased, and he couldn't mistake the brief flash of affection in Harvey's eyes. Once upon a time he'd thought that maybe that look had been paternal, but now he knew it to be the one Harvey shot at the people he cared for when he thought they weren't looking. People couldn't know he cared, after all, but in veiled glances and brief pats on the arm it was there.

"No, I haven't had better, either—but in defense of everyone else I've ever slept with, you've had the most time to learn," he said, turning his head slightly so he could see behind Mike. He frowned. "My suit is on the floor."

"Wait—what do you mean, 'I've had the most time to learn'? You've had girlfriends—what about them? What about…oh, I don't know, Scotty?"

"She and I had an arrangement, Mike. We slept together when it was convenient, and that was over a period of three years. If I could bag somebody else, usually I took them over her," Harvey stated.

"How long was your longest relationship, then? I'm sure you've had others…" Mike trailed off.

"Jennifer Tyrone, first year at Harvard, and I'd put that at—hm, around three, four days? I wanted her dictionary."

"You're kidding me."

"No, wait, you're right—it might have been her thesaurus."

"What the hell, Harvey? I mean, I know you're a bit of a jerk, but I'm sure there was _somebody_ willing to date you for longer than three days."

"All of them wanted to, naturally, but anything more than a one-night stand doesn't appeal to me. I don't do feelings, remember? The best I can do is make a sad face at the end of Marley and Me, and for most people, that doesn't cut it."

"Holy crap," Mike said.

"You already knew about my policies, kid, none of this should surprise you."

"No, no—I just realised something."

"Feel free to leave the audience in suspense, then."

"Technically, I'm the longest relationship you've ever had."

That was it. The awkward truth that had been lingering between them had been uttered aloud, and it made the space between them almost stagnant. It had sat curled up on Donna's tongue from the moment she had first figured out the two of them had slept together, and now it had breached for air. She'd watched as Harvey had paced in office in an angst he would call stress and blame on the client, and had caught Mike staring at the same word for several minutes, his mind miles away.

"We aren't talking about this," Harvey said, reaching for his watch on the bedside table.

"Why not?" Mike asked. "We've slept together five times—I think that's a conversation topic worth covering."

"You've been counting?"

"You haven't? We need to talk about this at some point," Mike sighed, rolling off of Harvey. Harvey's fingers trailed after the warmth until he realised what they were doing and retracted them.

"…and we will," Harvey responded, "but it is six a.m. on a Saturday, and I still haven't gotten any of the previously mentioned corn flakes. Or coffee, for that matter."

"I'm all out of coffee—but I think I have some Red Bull somewhere, if you want that."

"Do I look like an animal, Mike?"

"Have you seen your morning hair?" Mike retorted. "You could probably pass as a lion."

"Hilarious. Nonetheless, my body's a temple."

"But I'm sleeping with that temple, so Red Bull is sort of entering your system by default, if you think about it."

"That's…fantastically gross. We're changing your diet."

"What do you have against Red Bull anyways? It 'gives you wings'."

"Those wings are not worth flying on if you earned them from drinking what tastes vaguely like a mix of fruit flavouring, liquid mercury and leftover radiation from the cold war."

"You really have a gift, y'know that? And that gift is the ability to make good things sound bad."

"If you want caffeine, drink coffee."

"You're probably the type of rich person that drinks that coffee that was crapped out by a cat, aren't you?"

"You're probably the type of person who ate canned spinach thinking you would get big muscles."

"You're probably the type of person who didn't."

"There were steroids in that can."

"There were chemicals in the cat that shitted out your morning beverage," Mike said, sitting up and reaching for the pair of boxers he'd left right next to his bed. Harvey could call him a slob all he wanted, but Mike always knew exactly where his things were when he needed them.

"I don't drink that kind of coffee."

"I don't believe you for two seconds."

"If you believed me for one, you're getting naïve, kid."

"Trust me," Mike said, turning his back to Harvey and smiling softly at the orange and pink unfurling around the city in a strata of colours, the tall, glass buildings reflecting the hues. "I'm getting pretty good at understanding your nuances."

OoOoO

**Well, beloved audience, I've returned. Again. Because I'm a perfectionist and I rewrote this something like four times due to the fact I just couldn't pick the scenario.**

**So I went with Mike's place, 'cause I like the décor. That's the best reason I can come up with.**

**Also, can someone please tell me what the name of that cat coffee is? It's South American, I think…**

**Anyways, the final chapter will be up soon, and I've decided on how it's going to play out this time.**

**Thanks!**

**LeahxLeah**


	6. And The One Time They Acknowledged It

…**And The One Time They Acknowledged It.**

Mike wasn't the type of lover to call his partner _perfect_—it put the other person on an impossibly high pedestal, and gave them a push so they were bound to fall. Sure, Harvey may have called him the 'p' word once or twice, but to him it meant that Mike was perfect for him, not a flawless god that was too good for this world. Harvey criticized Mike on a daily basis and Mike made a game out of pointing out his boss's flaws to him over and over again, and somehow the two of them still wound up tangled in each other in the morning.

What it came down to was this—_yes, you're screwed up, but please never change. _

And Mike was well aware that Harvey was sort of emotionally ruined when on Monday, he didn't come to work.

Or Tuesday.

Or Wednesday.

Instead, he'd left Mike a note on his computer saying he was in Seattle schmoozing a potential client, and that the two of them would talk when he came back.

If Mike didn't know Harvey was completely and utterly in love with him, he would think that Harvey wouldn't come back at all—if he had even left New York, that was. But he had faith in him—after all, Harvey had never given up hope on Mike, not even the first day the two of them had met, when Mike was at his absolute lowest.

The office was lonely without Harvey, though—the lights a tad bit too flat, the work not as exciting, and even the view wasn't as good without Harvey standing in front of it. While he was perfectly alright with Harvey riding him, as there was always a bit of a pun there, Louis giving him boxes and boxes full of work wasn't comical in the slightest. It was dull. And he couldn't play the usual game of, 'let me slip innuendos into everything I say to embarrass him' with Louis, who was constantly cracking jokes about Mike's apparent depression.

"I can see why Harvey goes with the puppy metaphor now, Mike," Louis said, a rat like smile curling onto his face. "You really do sulk when he isn't here, don't you?"

"Now why would I do that, when I have your marvellous company?" Mike asked, smiling up at him.

"I detect a hint of sarcasm."

"I detect a hint of annoyance."

"I'm not going to banter with you," Louis stated.

"No, that's Harvey's job—and he wouldn't be happy if he found out you took it. So please, let me do my work and I won't mention to him that you stole both my free time and my soul," Mike said, sitting back down in his cubicle, tapping his pen slightly before diving headfirst into the endless amounts of paperwork.

The clock was his enemy—it ticked by slower and slower when he thought about how much he missed his boss, but flew by when he realised that when Harvey returned, he would have to say something along the lines of _I love you forever and ever please please please never leave me!_ Well, maybe he could make it sound a little bit more classy than that. Maybe he could read a poem? Nope, that was definitely out of the question. After all, he had his pride to maintain.

Bored out of skull, Mike flipped open his phone and sent a quick text to Harvey.

_How are things going over there? _

He left out a significant portion of text describing how much he adored Harvey and missed his presence—his scent had worn off of Mike's sheets and he was considering breaking into Harvey's place to get his daily fix.

A reply came almost instantly:

_Could be better. Are any of the conference rooms available?_

Business. Just business, naturally—they couldn't have a normal, healthy conversation about their feelings, of course. Because that would be normal, and Mike and Harvey? They were nothing close to that. But Mike had no intention of being the girl and bringing up 'emotions' through something as flat and two dimensional as text message, so he sent back:

_Number three. Why?_

Harvey's response was curt, as usual.

_Grab my laptop from my office and be there in five minutes—I need you to check something for me. _

Mike almost threw his phone across the room—preferably in the direction of Louis's head—but firmly bit his lip instead, quelling his frustration. Why did Harvey have to be such a dick? Why couldn't he just text Mike something along the lines of, _how's it going, kid? _Something—anything that could prove he gave a damn about Mike.

But Mike remained faithful, and stood up, heading for Harvey's office and slipping his phone in his pocket. It still looked the same as before Harvey left, with his records in impeccable condition and his laptop poised on his desk, and Mike wondered why he hadn't taken it with him. Maybe there was one provided for him in Seattle, or he'd left it behind so he could focus solely on wooing this client—but that thing was practically an extension of his soul, so Mike did find it odd. He scooped it up carefully, placing it in its case and heading to conference room three, sending Donna a weak smile as he passed. Her smile was just as weak in return, and Mike saw the same anger he had also running through her veins.

Conference room three was empty when he got there, and he flipped on the central thing he had seen Harvey do a few times before reclining in the chair, opening the laptop.

It didn't have a background, like he suspected, but it was password protected—he quickly typed in his name in the allotted space. He both blushed and grinned when it unlocked, and muttered quietly to himself, "Bullshit, you don't care."

Most of the files scattered about Harvey's desktop were work related, and he ignored them. Instead he went to the pictures folder, knowing Harvey would likely murder him in his sleep if he realised he was thumbing through his private files.

There were a handful of the typical, boring ones that came as screensaver options for the computer, and then he hit gold—pictures of him and Harvey. They weren't taken by Harvey—both of them were in the frame, grinning at the camera, and Mike realised these were probably the photos someone had taken of them at the Christmas party last year. When the photographer had offered to email them to Harvey, he'd responded with a brusque, "Don't bother."

Yet here they were, saved on his hard drive. Come to think of it, they both looked genuinely happy—maybe a little bit drunk, on Mike's part, his smile a little lopsided, but other than that, happy. Maybe Harvey had saved them for that reason—it was hard to find an occasion where both of them were smiling, except when they were together.

The phone ringing shocked Mike out of his train of thoughts, and he hit the answer button, absentmindedly asking, "Hello?" while closing the tab.

"You should say your name, not hello," Harvey responded over the phone, his voice echoing into the room. He sounded stressed and tired, and instantly Mike felt the anger he was harbouring melt into empathy.

"You sound like crap." Mike said, twirling a pen.

"Thank God you can't see me, then," he stated.

"I thought you were 'wooing'."

"It's complicated—look, can you just check my files for the Dawson-Landy merger? I took down my password encryption."

"Actually, you didn't. And my name? Adorable."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "I figured you wouldn't be able to guess it. Now, can you send the file to my email address?"

"Already done. Remind me again why you couldn't have just texted me all of this?"

"Roaming charges. At least this way we can put it on the company bill."

"Alright—are you…I don't know, okay?" Mike asked. He tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice but it had somehow still managed to seep in, and he rubbed a hand over his face in slight embarrassment.

"Been better, Dr. Ross, but I still have this tickle in my throat—"

"—hilarious," Mike interrupted. "You know perfectly well what I mean."

Harvey was quiet for a moment, and Mike thought he could hear footsteps on the other end of the line, as though Harvey was moving away from something. "No, I'm not. I don't exactly…do, this sort of thing, Mike."

"You think I'm any good at it?"

"Yes," Harvey stated. "You practically write poetry about every girl that crosses your path."

"Do I detect a hint of jealousy? And I'm not nearly as bad as you—pacing all around your office with angst painted on your face."

"I don't do that—"

"Harvey, there's practically tread marks on your floor—"

"Okay, so maybe I pace. But that is purely for stress relief and clearing my head."

"No, you get a hotdog when you need to clear your head. You pace when you're upset—like you did with Scotty, and with Cameron Dennis," Mike said to the empty room, staring at the painting on the opposite wall. All of them seemed to be abstract, as per Jessica's taste, he guessed.

"Don't bring him up."

"Fine, I won't. But you are just as much a romantic as I am, Harvey Specter."

"Bull—and what gives you the impression you know so much about me in the first place?"

"I've worked for you for over a year and I've slept with you more than anyone," Mike stated.

"What's my favourite movie?" Harvey asked.

"Top Gun."

Harvey made a discontented noise. "Second favourite?"

"Mississippi Burning."

"Oh, really? What's my favourite…colour?"

"Blue."

"How the hell did you—"

"—you told me once when we were drunk. You said it was because of the colour of my eyes."

Harvey coughed. "Fine, let's make this more difficult. What's my favourite classic car?"

"Any Mustang prior to the eighties, because they were ugly in that decade."

"What would I name my firstborn child if I had a son?"

"Dean Mike Specter."

"Daughter?"

"Sharona Specter, after the song. I really hope you never have a daughter—she'd probably turn out to be a stripper."

"What the fu—"

"Point is, I know you better than anybody. I even know that you aren't in Seattle right now—you're in the conference room next to me, you jackass. I can hear you scuffing your toe."

Harvey was silent.

"I get that you don't want to acknowledge this, but we have to. So get over here, because I've been missing you for three days and wondering whether or not you give a damn about me."

Mike hung up, exhaling through his nose and watching the dust settle on the table. It reminded him of Saturday morning, when he'd woken up warm and happy and _safe_—and he was putting all of that on the line just so he could talk about his feelings?

Why couldn't he just be happy with impromptu one-night stands, witty one-liners and poorly placed innuendos? Why did he need that assurance of love, of happy endings?

Wasn't sex enough?

Didn't drunken confessions and kisses he couldn't remember in the morning last him long enough?

Why couldn't he just love the fantasy?

"That really isn't fair, Mike."

Mike looked up at Harvey, who was scowling at him from the doorway.

"What isn't?"

"Accusing me of not giving a damn."

Mike shook his head disbelievingly, about to open his mouth when Harvey silenced him with a wave of his hand. "I slept with you five times—twice of which I told you I loved you—"

"—you were drunk, and high—"

"—you can't get high off of Advil, kid. Jesus, do I have to spell it out?"

Mike froze. "Shit."

"I did my best to be subtle, but obviously that didn't click. What do you want, sky writing?"

Mike tried to open his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed it again. Words weren't coming—they were sticking to his tongue and choking him. He felt immobile, like he was about to have a stroke or a seizure. He couldn't process this—Harvey…loved him? No, he must have heard that wrong. Did he? He looked up at Harvey—up at his warm skin, his perfectly pressed suit, his hair, which by now, Mike had grown used to seeing fluffy. His jaw was firm and his lips were pressed closely together as though he was angry, but his eyes were sad, staring at Mike as though he'd lost something.

"Why—why couldn't you just…say it? Say something? Anything?" He asked.

"And how would that go, exactly? 'Gee, Mike, I know I'm an asshole and a complete emotional wreck, and you're only attracted to me when you're drunk, but would you like to go out some time?" Harvey responded.

"So…what?" Mike asked, flabbergasted. "You just decided to make a bunch of 'drunk' love confessions and hope I'd catch on?"

"I thought you were smart."

"I didn't believe you because I _am_ smart—I tend to think I can fly when I'm intoxicated, and that doesn't make that true."

"Sure, but you should have also figured out that I'm mature enough to know the correct dose of medication and that I'm not as much of a light weight as you."

"You know what I said about understanding your subtitles? I take that back—I don't. And you're in a completely different language than…oh, I don't know—everyone?" Mike exclaimed, standing up and waving his arms.

"Oh," Harvey said, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, "because you're just so _easy_ to understand! I've slept with you five times and every time I've at least _said_ something, but you? Nooo, you're all cryptic and silent!"

"With all the noise complaints I've got from my neighbours? I'm nowhere close to silent!" Mike glared, closing the distance between them.

"I can't exactly tell how you feel about me based on your moans, Mike!" Harvey was gesturing now, and Mike noticed he was missing his tie and a few of his buttons were undone.

"Tone?" Mike asked.

"What, do I look like I honestly spend that much time watching porn that I can recognise every noise you make?"

"Do you want an honest answer to that? And holy crap, Harvey, I never thought I'd have to tell you this, but have some self-confidence, would you? I've slept with you twice sober, and you still think I'm not attracted to you?" Mike wanted to grab him—he wasn't sure if that was out of an impulse to kiss him or to hit him though, so he resisted.

"So you are?"

"Crap, I'm in love with you, dipshit."

"Oh." Harvey said, pausing. He awkwardly raised his arm to scratch the back of his head, disturbing his hair.

"Why did you pretend you were in Seattle?"

"I was—" Mike shot Harvey a look, "—on Monday. I just… stayed home. I figured since you wanted to 'talk' it meant you wanted to let me know you didn't feel the same way."

"You're dumb."

"_You're_ dumb."

"Well, congratulations—we're both in love with idiots." Mike said, putting his hands in his pockets. Harvey sighed, pinching his nose between his thumb and his forefinger for a minute, his eyes closed. He turned around, looking out at the hallway to see if anyone was there.

"So—what you're telling me is," Harvey paused, pointing towards his office, "the whole time I was pacing and upset in my office—"

"Ha!" Mike interrupted.

"—you were sitting at your desk, equally upset? About the exact same thing?"

Mike paused, frowning. "I guess so."

"And neither of us thought it might be a good idea to tell the other why we were acting like that?"

"No—I think I just figured out how frustrated Donna must feel on a daily basis."

Harvey nodded, then turned back to Mike. "Are you busy now?"

"Not with anything I actually want to be doing. Why?" Mike asked. Harvey smiled disbelievingly for a second, shaking his head and running his hand over his face, not unlike Mike had done. He inhaled quietly, walking to the corner and pulling a cord. Blinds slid across the glass that exposed them to the hallway, and then he reached down with long fingers and flicked the lock closed on the door.

"Because, kid," Harvey said, stalking across the room and winding a hand around Mike's far too skinny tie, "I've been thinking about doing this for a while."

Harvey was a force of nature when he wanted something, and Mike realised this a second too late when he became prey in the jaws of a predator. Mike felt himself get yanked forward by his poor, poor abused tie into Harvey, their lips hitting full force.

Instantly Mike felt that current of electricity run through his body that came from touching Harvey's skin, but this time it was a thousand times amplified and running through every available nerve in his body. He shuddered and ducked in closer, one of his hands winding its way up into Harvey's hair and the other down his spine, tucking into the soft material and the layers of muscles that were hidden underneath. Harvey tugged on his hair slightly before letting go of his tie and sliding off his suit jacket, his lips never parting from Mike's. Harvey captured Mike's upper lip between his two carefully, holding it there and letting the supple skin linger against his own.

Mike moved in until his chest was pressed flushed against Harvey's, and he let his hand wander around to Harvey's jawbone, his thumb running across the smooth line. Harvey's skin was smooth under his hand, and he had to run a finger up to the corner of his eye to the find fine lines that Mike loved. Mike pressed his forehead to his boss's, causing a lock of his own hair to fall down over his face. Harvey chuckled against his mouth, letting the vibrations run up and down his spine for a few seconds before pushing back the strand into its place.

Mike parted his mouth and Harvey followed suit, their tongues meeting gingerly against one another for a second before winding into the other person's mouth. He sighed softly as he mapped out the inside of Harvey's mouth, trying to discern where he'd kissed before and where he hadn't been. It was impossible to tell, and Mike just treated every touch as though this was his first exploration.

He'd managed to peel Harvey's jacket off and was counting that as a victory when Harvey backed him up abruptly towards the table, pushing him against it. Mike let out a small noise of pleasure and pulled himself onto the table, wrapping his legs around Harvey's waist. Harvey made a sound along the lines of a growl in pleasure pushing Mike farther back until he was practically lying against the table and Harvey was pinning him there, holding his hands in place. Harvey leaned down and licked a long stripe up Mike's neck, stopping only when he reached Mike's jaw to plant kisses all the way to his ear.

Mike let out a moan, and Harvey put a hand over his mouth and whispered, "Shh," in his ear. Harvey's hot breath tricked down his neck and under Mike's shirt, causing him to shiver against Harvey. He swiftly flicked open two of Mike's buttons before planting an open mouth kiss on his shoulder, letting in quickly evolve into more of a gentle bite.

Mike's hands were winding their way up and under Harvey's shirt when a knock sounded suddenly against the door, abrupt and impatient. Both of them froze for second, blue eyes locking with brown while they quickly disentangled themselves from one another, Mike doing up his buttons and Harvey pulling on his suit jacket with a murderous look on his face.

He crossed the room quickly, and Mike dashed to pick up his jacket and lay it across the back of a chair, making it seem completely natural. Harvey unlocked the door and opened it, glaring angrily at Louis, who glanced suspiciously at the two of them.

"What the hell were you two doing in an empty conference room with the door locked, the lights off, and the blinds pulled?" he asked. "And when did you get back?"

"About an hour ago," Harvey said. "And Mike and I were about to have sex on the table."

Mike was aware that his cheeks were quickly heating up, and he was suddenly glad it was so dark. He couldn't help but laugh at Harvey's bluntness, however, so he let out a laugh that he quickly managed to turn into a cough.

Louis scowled at them. "I honestly do not understand your sense of humour. Either way, it seems like Mike does, so you two freaks are perfect for each other."

Harvey looked back at Mike and grinned, sending him a wink.

THE END.

OoOoO

**Thanks everyone! I'm really glad that you took the time to read my fanfiction, let alone **_**enjoy**_** it! If anyone can guess the song I referenced they can have a skinny tie. I incorporated some ideas some of you accidentally gave me, so let me give credit where it's due:**

**Phreakycat told me you couldn't get high off of Advil. Thank you so, so much for giving me my ending. I adore you :D**

**Psionycx commented on almost every chapter. 3**

**Kaedesanzo (who reviewed anonymously, so I can't PM them this) you may absolutely translate this into Chinese! I'm flattered you asked! I'd just appreciate it if you put I wrote it.**

**Steve is my fantastically awesome editor. And friend. **

**LeahxLeah**


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